


Love Was a Funny Thing

by idiosyncraticWordsmith (literaryAspirant)



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Hive Relationship Dynamics, How would I even begin to tag this, I am not actually Hive Horny I just think its an interesting idea to explore, Love and Violence are the same to the Hive so this is only cute according to the Sword Logic, Love/Hate, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryAspirant/pseuds/idiosyncraticWordsmith
Summary: That which cannot defend its own existence should not exist--this is the basic tenet of the Sword Logic. To exist when one shouldn't is wasteful, and needless. Therefore to destroy something that can be destroyed is to free it, to render it final. It is an act of love.
Relationships: Guardian/Dûl Incaru
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Love Was a Funny Thing

Love was a funny thing.

For some people it meant warm nights snuggled together in bed whispering sweet somethings. For some people it meant dancing in starlight to the music of the spheres. For some, it meant struggle, and sometimes sacrifice.

Sometimes that struggle meant clawing your way through the Ascendant Plane. The cold, incessant wind whipping at every inch of your body. The strange force of gravity which was present and yet absent, roiling onto your bones in its inconsistency. The shadows within the overwhelming shadow playing tricks on your eyes. The whispers from the all-encompassing depths toying with your ears.

Sometimes that sacrifice wasn’t much of a sacrifice. Sometimes it meant giving something up knowing that it would return to you. Again and again. Eternally, even. Sometimes it meant pain, but a purifying pain. Not the pain of a wound but of exercise, of muscles torn and ripped that they grow back again stronger than before. Perhaps it meant a sacrifice of time, of effort, of energy, of knowledge. To be constantly confused, outsmarted, outmaneuvered—it is a sacrifice of ego, to be sure.

But love could be a challenge. To do better, to be better. To become smarter, stronger, faster, ever more able to do what must be done for that love. Love was a motivator, an undying fuel at the heart of a burning fire that can drive you like an NLS drive, custom-tuned, at optimal performance. It could drive you to destroy your enemies, to crush them into dirt and dust, to rend their worms, to jump higher and run faster, to shed off the need for the help of others, to climb to new heights on your own merit.

All so that you could see her.

I touch down onto the final platform. She is there, as always. Her chaperons accompany her, as per her mother’s command. The Witch Queen could not simply allow her daughter to partake in the presence of a bachelor without accompaniment, of course. Royalty had certain expectations placed on them. Very old-fashioned. I respect it.

With a flash of Light those chaperons are reduced to charred cinders, their worms carved into smoldering pieces. In the back of my mind, I feel the distant sense of Savathun’s mind touching my own. No words—merely an awareness of her tacit, condescending approval.

_You are strong_ , it tells me,  _but you are not cunning. When are you going to impress me?_

I ignore it and it fades. I do not smother the burning hatred I feel for her. Instead I let it fuel me like love.

I stare at the one I cherish, and she stares at me, her beloved, her champion.

She smiles, her teeth bared and sharp, as she raises her hands to conduct her Dark sorcery. I take my mask off, and let her see my own smile, lit by the burning Light of my knives.

With adoration she tries to tear my body apart and rip my Light from my bones. I love her so much for the way she makes me feel when she does that. I love her vicious smile. Her strength and cunning. I love the way I feel as I fight to prove that I am worthy of her.

And I know she loves it, too.

With a final flurry of Light the place falls quiet. My beloved is dead, her broken form in my arms. With her last breaths she smiles at me and strokes my cheek. I plunge a knife into her chest and her physical form breaks into dust.

She would be back for date night next week, I knew. And then would be another chance for me to woo her, and to impress her mother.

I wonder if a gift would win her mother over. I consider as I leave the throne world if the Witch Queen would enjoy sudoku puzzles.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not actually approve of the Sword Logic. I do not advocate violence as a form of romance. This is a work of exploratory fiction.


End file.
